My would-be-bride
by piggybull9
Summary: "How dare they. How dare those people hurt her. She's mine and only mine. Those people have no right to hurt what is mine." The Joker's princess of crime has fallen and he isnt happy about it. Not one bit. ONE-SHOT


**disclaimer:**

**i do not own batman or any of its characters :(**

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**How dare they. How dare those _people_ hurt her. She's _mine_ and only _mine_. Those _people_ have no right to hurt what is _mine_.** He ran a gloved hand over her grease painted face and felt the warmth of it. It amazed him how warm she was when he felt so cold. He, who was still alive.

He had sat for what felt like hours just staring at her stark white face. **So beautiful**_, _he thought bitterly, **like a dark angel**_._ He so badly wished his angel would spring up like she always did after he beat her. Jump up shouting, "I'm so soooorry, Mistah J!" As if it was her fault he hit her, as if she had done something wrong, something so terribly wrong. It was always her fault. She had loved him, that's why he hurt her. He doesn't know why, and he always felt bad afterwards. He never showed it and now he never could. Shell never see, never _know_ how guilty, how _sorry_ he felt.

Her black lips will never smile, her pale blue eyes will never open, and her thin yet strong arms will never embrace him. Not ever again. She is _dead._ That bastard _shot_ her. It had all been going so well, just a simple robbery. As her lithe red and black form cartwheeled alongside of him she has looked so _happy._

"Lookie here pudding! Ya like my new necklace?" her perfect high pitched voice had asked as she began to walk gracefully beside him. She was so close he could smell her. The scent of grease paint and pumpkin and caramel, it was just so _her._ He liked the necklace she wore almost as much as her scent. It wasn't a grand necklace. A white gold chain with a small assortment of red and black jewels. It suited his princess of crime so well.

"Indeed I do!" he had laughed in his goofy way. He'll never forget her smile then. This tiny bit of praise had made her glow like a 1000 watt light bulb. She beamed with such pure love and happiness at him, at _him_ of all people she smiled like this at _him._ She was never more beautiful than she was then. And she never will be. It was then that it happened, some cop trying to play hero. One second she was the happiest person alive, the next her face was blank with shock. Then it contorted in pain.

His princess fell, she never fell not like this. Not curling in on herself as she collapsed into his arms. Never with a gasp of such pure pain that his stomach dropped out of him. He did the first thing he could think of when he saw his princess, his angel, in pain because of someone other than himself. He pulled her close. Then he ran. He never ran. Not even from old Batsy, but that day he did.

"Puddin?" she gasped as he sprinted down dark alley after dark ally. "What's happenin? Did you do this Mistah J?" those words ripped him open, he stopped to look at his chest where it hurt wondering if he had been shot but there was no blood. He glanced at her then and saw the tiny tears in her eyes, "are you okay Puddin?" are you okay, are you okay, are you okay? It echoed in his head. Isn't she in pain? Looking at her now he could see where the bullet had torn through her chest. She's hurt and she's asking if I'm okay?

"Why the fuck are you asking? Of course I'm o-fucking-k! I'm not the one who got fucking shot!" he couldn't help but shout. He wasn't mad. He was completely and utterly pissed. And hurt. And lost. And guilty. Guilty because he saw her face when he said this. Lost because he could see the life leaving her eyes. He didn't know why it hurt so bad. He knew it was because of her though. He hurt because someone else made her hurt. And they will pay.

"I'm sorry Puddin. You just don't look like you're okay and I don't like it when you aren't okay." He high pitched voice rasped, a very strange sounding combination. She looked up at him from the cold and grimy ground. He doesn't remember putting her down, but he knows he didn't drop her. He sat next to his princess and wrapped his arms around her small frame.

"Stop apologizing. It's not your fault." He whispered, the double meaning of his words lost to her.

"Okay…" she sounded hesitant, she never sounded hesitant. "I love ya Mistah J, I really do." She whispered weakly into his chest. His chest hurt again, but it felt kinda good this time. That was until he looked back down. Her eyes were still open but they were glassy and empty. The eyes of the dead.

His rage returned tenfold. She can't be dead. They killed her. That cop killed her and he doesn't even know. The cop doesn't care that his princess of crime is dead. Hell, if he knew he killed her he'd probably celebrate, "look at me! I'm the cop that killed the Joker's bitch!" the cop won't celebrate though. _He _would make sure of that. Everyone will know what that cop did to his princess. Everyone will _suffer_ for it too. They'll feel her pain, his pain, _so much pain._ He'll make sure everyone knows that she died. He'll make sure everyone feels pain from her death. Everyone will regret her death. He _will_ make sure that wherever she is she knows that he loves her. She will know that she is his darling, his angel, his love, and his would-be-bride.

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incase any of you are confused this is from the Jokers point of veiw when Harlequin dies, this really doesnt follow any movies, comics, or shows its just the characters running around and dying, you know normal stuff. Also the last part is in honor of my favorite line from Poe's poem Annabell Lee and if its really far off from the poem then im sorry i wrote this off of memory during my study hall


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